


Song for a Winter's Night

by madame_faust



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Durin Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_faust/pseuds/madame_faust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt in the Hobbit Kink Meme - "While Thorin and his family have smithing to fall back on, sometimes there's just no work to be found. I'd like to see something that deals with them falling on really hard times: for a while, Dís and Thorin barely have enough food to feed Fíli and Kíli when they are growing up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song for a Winter's Night

**Author's Note:**

> Read the original prompt and fill here: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3138.html?thread=4525634#t4525634
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit from this work. The title for this fic is lifted from Gordon Lightfoot's beautiful "Song for a Winter's Night" which I quoted at the beginning and end of the fic. I took Dís's husband's name from the Poetic Edda where Tolkien got his dwarf names. I hate it more than words can say, but it was better than choosing a random letter to slap in front of 'íli.' This can be read as a prequel to 'The Stubbornness of Dwarves,' it certainly goes a long way toward explaining why Thorin, Dís and Dwalin are SO unhappy in that story.

  _The lamp is burning low upon my table top_  
 _The snow is softly falling._  
 _The air is still, in the silence of my room_  
 _I hear your voice softly calling._  


_If I could only have you near_  
 _To breathe a sigh or two_  
 _I would be happy just to hold the hands I love  
_ _On this winter's night with you._

 The first winter after his sister’s husband died was one of the lowest points in their exile. Víli’s work as a miner brought in much needed money, but it was the loss of his cheerful face, good humor and songs depressed their spirits more than the sting of poverty. The snow came early to the mountains that year, crops in the surrounding villages were lost to a hard frost and fewer folks could afford hiring out dwarf-smiths. Even if their knives were dull, there was precious little food to cut with them.  
  
Last winter, before a cave-in brought boulders down on his brother-in-law, the house Thorin kept with his sister’s family had been cheerful. The winds howled outside their door, but its occupants were flushed with song, dance and drink. Dwalin and Balin were such frequent visitors that Dis said she might as well add another room to the back in the spring to save them the trouble of walking home late at night. Víli’s friends from the mine, the brothers Bofur and Bombur along with their cousin Bifur, were also guests many a night and they filled the house with music and the smell of good cooked meats and pies.  
  
Instruments would be brought out along with pipes and mead, music played late into the night and dancing shook the rafters. Neighbors would visit for a drink or a dance or, more often than not, to hold and play with Fíli who would clap his chubby hands and smile a delighted smile at all the attention. Children were a rare blessing among their people and when Dís informed her brother that he’d have another to name as heir he was so delighted that he swung her around gaily and kissed her. In those precious bygone days, Thorin was nearly content with his life, the pain of the loss of their kingdom and kin ached less keenly then.  
  
There was no visiting now and no music, save the tired tunes Dís sang to lull her children to sleep. Kíli was born to a house of mourning and the celebration of his birth was tempered by the sorrow that his father, whose eyes he’d inherited, was not there to meet his son.  
  
Bofur and Bombur, their smiles and their songs, were gone south to find work to bring home money. Their cousin was left in the care of Bombur’s wife since an old war wound made him unemployable most places. He carved toys, in good years, but there was no money to be had for baubles now. Even Balin was gone away. The morning after that unexpected frost withered grain and sent the animals into an early winter sleep, he made for the Iron Hills to beg assistance of Dáin Ironfoot and his people. It had been many weeks now with no word of success or failure.

The cold was hard on everyone, Men took sick and died in their homes and although Dwarves were hardier, they too felt the deprivations of cold and hunger. Thorin saw his sister’s face, pale and drawn since her husband’s death, grow sharp for lack of food and he worried about his nephews. Fíli’s cheeks lost some of their roundness and Kíli could hardly thrive if his mother did not have enough to eat. Thorin tried to force his own portions of meat on her, but she refused and soon there was not enough food to be had to make the offer.  
  
Eventually Dwalin too went South looking for work. It was not a voluntary separation and for the first time since they were dwarflings, he and Thorin nearly came to blows. Dwalin came by with an offering of firewood since the day’s hunt turned up nothing more than a few skinny rabbits.  
  
“You ought to follow Bofur’s example and travel for work,” Thorin told him, for what had to be the twentieth time in half as many days. “Outside the mountains, where the weather is not so harsh.” There was a hollowness in Dwalin’s face that pained him greatly to see. Thorin could bear many things, but the pain of loved ones pierced his heart like a spear.  
  
Stubbornly, Dwalin shook his head. “I don’t suffer overmuch,” he said, also for the twentieth time. The icicles that clung to his beard and dripped on the worn carpet beneath his feet belied the fact. The warrior knelt before the hearth to stoke the fire and Thorin saw his oldest friend’s hands shake.  
  
“Must I demand this of you?” Thorin asked, laying hands on Dwalin’s shoulders and forcing him to look in his eyes. “I order you, as your king, to go out, seek work and feed yourself.” He laughed bitterly. “As your king. If that means anything to you.”  
  
Dwalin’s dark eyes narrowed and his broad hands clenched into fists. “I took a vow to be at your side always. Do not order me to break it.”  
  
“You break your vows more in their carrying out than their denial!” Thorin bellowed so loudly he woke the children from their light, empty-bellied slumber. Their cries filled the house, replacing the sounds of the harp and fiddle of his memories. How on earth had they fallen so low?  
  
Thorin retreated away from Dwalin. He placed his head in his hands and slumped into his chair by the fire. “I’m sorry,” he apologized to no one in particular. Perhaps he spoke to his nephews. Perhaps his sister who must now sooth them both back to sleep. Perhaps to Dwalin whose loyalty and love for them could not be shaken even by the worst circumstances. Perhaps to himself for failing them all so miserably.  
  
A hand on the back of his head caressed his hair in an almost fatherly manner. Thorin looked up to see Dwalin standing over him, expressions of resignation and resentment flashing over his face. “I would not leave you, if I can help it. Balin should soon reach the Iron Hills, they will send aid.”  
  
“You know it cannot come fast enough,” Thorin sighed. “We suffer whether you stay or go, I will not condemn you to suffer along with us if it can be helped.”  
  
They exchanged no more words that night. The next morning, Dwalin was gone.

After his friend took his leave, Thorin remained staring into the fire. The cries of his nephews fell to whimpering and then silence. He nearly dozed before the fire, but the door creaked open and his head, battle-trained as it was, snapped up at once. Dís stood before him, carrying a candle and wrapped in his own heavy fur-lined coat.  
  
“Fíli and Kíli are asleep?” he asked and she nodded.  
  
“Side by side, wrapped up like apple turnovers. They sleep better together than they do apart and I don’t blame them. The nights are cold.” Without needing to be asked, Thorin opened his arms and Dís sat on his lap, as she used to do when she was small and they were all so afraid after their home was lost. The nights were cold then, too. She was no longer the tiny dwarf lass she’d been and she lay her head against her brother’s now, instead of tucking it under his chin. Dís spread his coat over the pair of them and they sat in silence, save for the crack and pop of the logs on the fire.  
  
It was Dís who spoke first, “I hope you didn’t part on bad terms.”  
  
“You heard us, then?”  
  
“Thorin, I think they heard you in the Iron Hills,” Dís replied wryly and he blessed his sister for keeping her humor even in the worst times. It was a quality she shared with their brother. Thorin’s heart gave a familiar lurch when he thought of Frerin. For the first time since his death he found himself thinking, _I am pleased he is not here, sharing our fate._  
  
After another silence, his sister spoke again, “You should go with Dwalin tomorrow.”  
  
Thorin shook his head before his sister finished speaking, “I will do no such thing.” His arms tightened involuntarily around her as he spoke, as though her body would anchor him to the spot.  
  
Thorin’s reasons for needing to remain were the same as Dwalin’s, even if neither spoke them aloud. In spite of their empty bellies and tired bodies that craved useful work almost as much as food, they were afraid of leaving the Blue Mountains. It was not fear for themselves, but for those they would leave behind. Neither of them could stomach the thought that they might return to see the graves of more of those they loved.  
  
Dís understood this, but she pressed on regardless. “You yourself said that we will suffer regardless - ”  
  
“Dís. Enough,” Thorin said gruffly.  
  
“You don’t need to stay and take care of me,” Dís replied angrily, eyes flashing. “Your poor widowed sister, ruining you with her sons had back to back, like some woman of Man. More mouths to feed than can be provided for.”  
  
Thorin drew away and looked at her in astonishment. “Who says such things?” he demanded. “Surely _you_ don’t believe that?” His eyes went wide and he added, disbelieving, “You don’t think _I_ believe that?”  
  
She looked away toward the room where her sons slept. “No. I don’t know. I’m tired.” She tucked a braid behind her ear that was coming loose after a long day and sighed. “You two could do well for yourselves on the road. Well enough. I don’t want us to be a burden to you.”  
  
Thorin’s heart grew heavy and he closed his eyes in grief when he realised the full extent of what his sister was trying to do. He was a fool. He did not realize how low he was, if his own sister, all that remained of the Erebor-born of his kin, the light in the dark hours of his life, could believe herself and her sons - her beautiful sons, so full of promise! - could ever be a burden. Their own father, overwhelmed by grief and loss, abandoned them years ago. Dís was trying to push him out the door before he left on his own. “Forgive me,” he begged, eyes closing in shame. “I have failed you.”  
  
“Hush, you’ve done no such thing,” Dís replied, kissing her brother on the top of the head. “You always think about us. I’m thinking about you.”  
  
“I won’t leave you,” Thorin vowed. Thorin, son of Thráin he might be, but he was _not_ his father. Then he added something that he ought to say more often, but rarely got around to, “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too,” she replied, simply and sincerely. “But all the love in the world does not put food on the table nor wood on the fire.”

“We’ll manage,” her brother assured her. It was less than a promise; Thorin could not remember the last time he’d be able to make a sincere promise. No, now, that wasn’t quite true. When he held Kíli the first time, he made the same vow he made to Fíli five years before. _You are my heir, sister-son. You will be loved. I will do all I can to give you the life you deserve._ “When all else falls away, we will have one another. I offer you myself. I have nothing else.”  
  
They held one another for the rest of the night, while their children slept in the next room. They survived the night and Thorin, true to his word, did not leave.  
  
Two weeks later, Bofur and Bombur returned with five rashers of bacon, a sack of flour and a keg of beer. It wasn’t much in the way of compensation, but the head of Bofur’s mattock had broken, could Thorin trouble himself to mend it?  
  
They invited the brothers in while Thorin went to work and Dís set about baking the first loaf of fresh bread they’d had in weeks, humming as she kneaded the dough with the vigor of lifted spirits. The two miners made themselves busy with the children, Kíli all but disappearing in Bombur’s arms while Bofur amused Fíli with some carved oliphants, courtesy of his cousin. The next day, they received a letter each by the sons of Fundin. Balin said Dáin was sore troubled to hear of their plight and was sending dried meats and preserves to the Blue Mountains as quick as their ponies could ride.  
  
Dwalin managed to find work as well, but he claimed he was bored to tears for lack of good company to keep. He'd be returning as soon as he possible and damn the orders of his Majesty King Thorin the Stubborn, may his beard grow ever longer and may his temper flare ever brighter. Dwalin’s letter was specifically addressed to Dís, but she took great pleasure in reading the choiciest paragraphs aloud to her brother. As she repeated their cousin's teasing words a happy smile lit her face for the first time in ages. It was only then that Thorin was truly confident they would survive this winter.

 

  
_The fire is dying now, my lamp is growing dim_   
_The shades of night are lifting._   
_The morning light steals across my windowpane_   
_Where webs of snow are drifting._   


_If I could only have you near_  
 _To breathe a sigh or two._  
 _I would be happy just to hold the hands I love_  
 _On this winter's night with you.  
_ "Song for a Winter's Night" - Gordon Lightfoot (1967) _  
_


End file.
